


It's Hard To Get Around The Wind

by fairyjihoon (fairyminseok)



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:25:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyminseok/pseuds/fairyjihoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Changkyun doesn't take this walk often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Hard To Get Around The Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Blue_moon](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Blue_moon) collection. 



__

_

And even when you know the way it's gonna blow,  
It's hard to get around the wind

_

__

 

Changkyun doesn't take this walk often. 

It's too burdensome, memories too heavy as they hang in the air and clog his senses; emotions that he hasn't felt in years coming to the surface to claw at the insides of his throat. 

An alleyway; Changkyun remembers this one, sunnier last time he'd been here. He can see the photograph he'd taken, the one with the blue dragon graffiti shimmering in the light that shone between the buildings. There had been a mouse scurrying from behind a rubbish bin, little paws scuffling against the damp concrete road, little nose twitching as it tried to avoid their shoes. 

It was warmer then too. This morning it's cold, wind nipping at Changkyun's fingers as he struggles to grip his camera, eyes through the viewfinder to see if there's enough light for a photo. 

There isn't, and he curses softly putting his gloves back on, shivers when a gust of wind whips around the alley corner. It's still dark, and Changkyun grows suddenly paranoid, ducking from the alley and into the safety of the main street; deserted but open. Safer. 

It's warmer on the main street, though still windy. A tattered shop sign teeters, looking just about to fall with each gust that hits it. An abandoned _noraebang_ , one that had once been teeming with business. 

Back before the area got bad, before they started putting in too many halfway houses, too many low income families with no desire of ever moving up. 

Not that Changkyun can judge, not that Changkyun fears the area he grew up in. 

It's bright enough here to take a photo, and Changkyun takes one of the sign, camera feeling too heavy in his hands, weighed down by the memories within it's core. 

_"changkyunnie! The noraebang is free tonight, wanna go?" and of course changkyun wants to go because he's sixteen and he's so in love and the boy who tugs on his wrist has the brightest smile. he wants to take photos of it, wants to capture it forever though he knows they'll never show up as bright on film._

Changkyun shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be walking around a world that he only remembers through pictures, shouldn't be scraping the ground for the remnants of something that's long gone. 

He can feel the air growing lighter as he walks, coat collar flapping in the wind. It's snowing slightly, tiny flakes through the haze of that time right before the sun rises. 

_"and what do you love best?" "you, right before the sun rises."_

Changkyun used to see the entire world as a photograph. Used to see each and every object, building, tree as potential art; and really it all was -- _is_ art. Every sunbeam on a building window just waiting for a filter, every dusty surface in the world holding a memory that deserves to be caught on film, kept forever.

Nothing ever does show up as nice on film, but that doesn't stop Changkyun. And he still sees the world as a photograph, still sees every corner as a click of a shutter, the pressing of a button, the whirring of his laptop fan as he sits in the dark with photoshop open. 

He doesn't take as many photos as he used to. 

It hurts too much, the thought of the past and the thought of the nostalgia, the pain that whips through him like a current, icy blasts of _why_ colder than the wind as the sun rises. 

He wonders if anyone in this neighbourhood is an early riser, traces his fingers around the bricks of an old building as the first rays of sunlight touch the redness. 

Changkyun inhales. The cold seeps into his lungs and doesn't quite leave when he exhales, doesn't quite escape with the foggy breaths that show up in the air. 

He passes a school. It's still open, sign lit up against the rising sun. _Parent/Teacher interviews, Thursday, December 17th. Happy Holidays, everyone!_

_"my parents and my brother are at his middle school interviews right now, you should come over," and his voice is like twinkling stars as it rings in changkyun's ears and his heart thuds so nervously as he makes his way down this very street, ready for anything. ready for the world._

Changkyun knows if he keeps walking, turns left three times and follows the vine path to where the pretty well is, the one he has at least fifty photos of, all in black and white, the monochrome vines winding down to it's core. 

Changkyun feels something like kin with that well, can feel its deepness, its sadness radiate even from some miles away, even as he hangs his camera around his neck and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

Changkyun isn't a morning person. 

A church bell rings somewhere, deep and lonely. Six A.M. A time Changkyun knows well, but from the confines of his own bedroom when he can't sleep, when the warm milk and the sleeping pills fail themselves and he trashes about, staring at the blue hues of winter as they shine through his window. 

He doesn't like it outside much better, though his calves are starting to ache; both from the cold and from the exertion of his walk. 

He's out of shape. 

_they run through the park, changkyun ducking behind a particularly heavy set of vines. it's like they're twelve again, shining smiles and bright laughter and he's so beautiful it takes changkyun's breath away. he can't breath and he feels lost and in love._

Rejection hurts, but it hurts more when there's no future after the rejection, when there's no chance to go back and change it all. 

Changkyun snaps a photos of the vines. Wonders if these two, will develop to be monochrome. Changkyun wonders if the fireflies still come out at night in the field by the well, wonders if the backyard is still kept immaculate, the tiny hands of the old woman who lives in the house expert.

Changkyun wonders if there are still flowers on the grave at the top of the hill. 

_"it isn't your fault changkyunnie." and he doesn't believe her, hands shaking as he attempts not to scream, eyes wide with the force of trying to stop the tears, always stopping the tears, never crying never because he promised he would never cry in front of him. "none of it is your fault. it was his idea to go to the cliffs." and changkyun knows thats a lie because it was him who wanted to photograph the waves as the sun went down and it was him that tripped and --_

The well is still, but the vines that wind around it are dying, decayed just Changkyun's heart and the tears fall fat and heavy down his face.

the sound of the camera hitting the bottom of the well is muted by the thudding of Changkyun's heart and he vows to never take a photo again, even if the world wants to present itself like a never ending camera roll, even if the grave at the top of the hill looks beautiful illuminated by sunlight. 

Changkyun doesn't take this walk often.


End file.
